alexsunmners:

Peter Maximoff + this prompt list

A/N: @kurtwxgners you’re the wooorst I’m so emo about peter fml

You really don’t know how it got to this point, because you’re still very much in love with Peter. The break up was your idea. It was you who ended things, but the more you think about your reasons, about the weeks leading up to the split, the less clear everything feels. You love him, and you don’t want to be broken up, but for ages, he had been distant, and distracted, and when you asked him about it, he gave vague answers, and dodged the question and you were so, so tired of being blatantly lied to, so one night when he came home, you told him, as quietly and calmly as you could manage, that you needed space. That you needed to think about what you wanted, and he that probably should too. That you didn’t really want to be around him for a while. He asked you to stay, voice shaking, eyes glassy and panicked, but you ignored him. You picked up the small bag you had impulsively packed and walked out the door.

One afternoon, Peter is at the mansion, talking to the Professor about something, and you’re kneeling on the floor in front of your chest of drawers, regretting that you didn’t pack a bigger bag when you left almost a week ago. Scrubbing mercilessly at your eyes with the heels of your palms to get rid of the tears you can feel starting to form, you take a deep, steadying breath before pulling open the first drawer. Just the act of packing up your clothes makes everything feel more permanent, and even though you were the one who said you needed space, you don’t want space, you want Peter back. You want him to talk to you and hold you and you don’t want to be packing your bags, but here you are.

By the time evening falls, you’ve packed everything up. There are two suitcases sitting by the door and everything you’ve built with Peter is ready to be loaded unceremoniously into the back of your car and taken away. Just looking at them makes you want to cry. Turning to survey the room, your gaze falls on an overturned photo frame, and you reach out to place it the right way up and immediately regret it because you barely have to glance at the photo in the frame to realize why it was turned over. It’s a photo of you and Peter, his arms are around your shoulders and you’re looking at each other, so deeply, obviously in love, and you feel physically sick, because this is your fault. You abruptly place it back face down on the table and turn back to the rest of the room, because as well as reminding you of what you’ve given up, the photo has reminded you that you still can’t find your favourite comfy sweater. If it was literally any other article of clothing, you’d leave it behind, but not that one, so you grit your teeth and go back to the bedroom to look for it.

You find it. It takes the better part of an hour, and more tears than you’re willing to admit to, and by the end, a lot of Peter’s clothes are on the floor, but you find your sweater at the very bottom of one of his drawers. It’s tucked into the back tidily enough to be intentional, but you don’t get the chance to think about that, because as you pull your sweater from the drawer, you see the small, velvet box hidden underneath it, and your heart heaves it’s self into your throat because you know what that box means. With shaking hands, you reach out and pick it up, barely aware of the tears spilling down your cheeks as you hesitantly open the lid of the box, already knowing what you’re going to find inside and hoping desperately that you’re wrong.

You’re not wrong. It’s a silver ring with a glittering stone set in the top and you can barely make out the details through the tears streaming from your eyes, but everything in the weeks before you left make sense now, and all you can do is sit there and cry helplessly as you hear the door creak open, because how are you supposed to live with yourself knowing that Peter had wanted to marry you and you walked away from him.